Baseball Bats and Broken Arms
by Zoe Standing Bare
Summary: “Honestly, Peter, the one time you’re allowed to play baseball in gym and you break your arm-“ Random fluff from Jason's POV.


Author's Note: Something cute and fuzzy. Because I know that's what you readers eat up. Honestly, though, I am so much more of an angst writer!

Disclaimer: Not mine. *sigh*

"Honestly, Peter, the one time you're allowed to play baseball in gym and you break your arm-"

"_Not helping, Jason_!"

Staring at my roommate and secret boyfriend guiltily, I give a meek grin. We're sitting in a curtained room in the closet emergency room while the St. Ceclia's school nurse is yelling at a doctor. I was only allowed to come because, obviously, as Peter's roommate, someone has to take care of him and keep him calm. So far, they've managed to set his arm and get it into a cast, keeping Peter from crossing his arms. But he is glaring at me, no matter how much I'm trying to calm him down.

"You promise it was an accident, then?"

"No," he rolls his eyes at me. When did my boyfriend get so sarcastic? "I totally meant to break my arm. It was my clever ploy to get out of participating in gym class ever again."

I shrug. "Wouldn't put it past you."

He gives me an even nastier glare and sets his jaw in a pout.

If Peter wasn't so angry with me, I would find the whole situation quite hilarious. I mean, how it happened would have been funny if it was anyone else; Peter had tried to swing the bat, missing the ball, but hitting his arm quite hard. At first he thought he had hit the ball, what with the cracking noise and all…and then, as he told the doctor, the pain registered.

I try not to laugh thinking about it again, and Peter's glare gets harsher, effectively shutting me up. "Look, Peter, just relax, okay? It could happen to anyone."

"But it happened to me," he snaps. Man, what the hell did they give him to make him act like this? Or maybe it's some sort of crazy built up frustration. Yeah, that's gotta be it.

The school nurse and doctor return to the room, both looking rather angry. Peter and I look up, and the doctor gives a forced smile. "Well, Peter, it's a pretty bad break, but you should be fine. The cast should stay on for three months, then you can come back here to get it taken off."

"Three months?" Peter groans. My eyebrow raises.

"Yes, three months."

Peter sighs, rubbing his forehead with his right hand.

"Hey, look on the bright side," I say cheerily. "At least it wasn't your writing arm."

"Shut up, Jason," Peter says through gritted teeth. I know better, and back off.

"Now, now, Peter," our school nurse finally says calmly. "Jason is going to watch you the most for the next three months. Try to be a little kinder."

Peter's eyes shut, but I can tell by the slight crinkle around his eyes that he's glaring at me through his eyelids. "Sorry, Jason."

"I'll be the most chivalrous roommate ever," I reply teasingly. Peter's eyes fly open. "I guess for the next three months, you're basically my girlfriend." His eyes widen at my words. "I'll be carrying your books, helping you around…yup." I wink at him.

Peter is lost for words; luckily the doctor and nurse are back in conversation and haven't heard most of what I just said. It was a daring move, but I know adults tend not to listen, and they wouldn't have understood anyway.

The ride back to school is silent, and as we return to the looming cathedral that houses St. Cecilia's, I get of the car, watching Peter struggle with his own door handle with a smug smile, and open it for him. More glaring as he walks past me, giving a curt 'thank you'.

When we get into the building, a group of students surround Peter. Lucas has a couple of sharpies, and insists that everyone signs the cast. With a resigned sigh, Peter allows it, ignoring the kind words, or, in Lucas's case, the crude symbols. "Thanks guys," he attempts to put on a wide smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes like his smiles usually do. "I'm a little tired, though, I'm going to go lie down."

He pushes past everyone, and I follow dutifully. When we get back to our dorm room, I lock the door behind me and sit besides him on his bed. "I'm not fragile," he snaps at me.

"Your broken arm would beg to differ. Peter, what is wrong with you?"

He looks at me for a moment, then, without warning, bursts into tears. I raise and eyebrow, but put an arm around him, pulling him close. It's a bit awkward with the big cast on his left arm, but that's alright. "The one time I'm allowed to do anything in gym class and I ruin it."

"Why do you suddenly care so much about gym?" I ask softly. Honestly, I thought Peter didn't give a damn about gym.

"I was…I was thinking…" he blushes and looks down before muttering something.

"Didn't hear you, babe."

"I wanted to impress you," he says more clearly, but still looking at his feet. I realize how inappropriate laughter would be and keep my mouth shut. "I wanted to show you that I was actually capable of something you are."

"Oh Peter," I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips and his face turns back to me. I can see the tears still streaming down his face. "I don't care if you're 'capable' of playing baseball. I didn't come to like you because of that, obviously."

"But Jason…I'm just so incredibly…inept. At everything, actually. I can't play sports, I don't get the best grades, I never get leads in the school plays…what on earth could you like about me?"

I place my forefinger and thumb on his chin and gently lift his chin towards me, kissing him softly. "I don't care about any of that stuff, Peter. Because you are a caring person, and beautiful, both on the inside and outside." He's squirming slightly, obviously wanting to say something else. "Now stop making a fuss and let me kiss you."

Not going to lie, kissing him is a bit different without his arms around me, and instead a cast pressing against my chest, but it's as good as always. I can't even put into words what I feel for Peter, probably because there aren't any. But Peter is definitely feeling better, and I can definitely tell this.

He pulls back, smiling slightly, a slight redness in his face marked by tear streaks the only remnants of his crying. "My arm hurts a little…I'm done for now."

I get up and fluff his pillow slightly, helping him lean back against it. "Once again, Jason, I'm not a porcelain doll. I'm fine by myself."

"But I want to take care of you," I persist. "It's the least I can do. I am partly responsible for you breaking your arm…"

"How so?"

"Being so good at baseball and making you want to be as good as me."

For a second, I think Peter's about to whack me with his cast, but he settles for rolling his eyes and leaning back against the pillow. I grin and kiss his forehead, pulling the blankets over him. "Jason-"

"Do you want anything?" I ask loudly, ignoring his protests. "Let me get you some water…a book? I'll get you some work and we can work on it together."

"Jason-"

"Oh come on, Peter. I _promised_ I would take care of you!"

He sighs, but lets me continue to do this. I can see the expression on his face, but choose to ignore it, instead petting his head gently.

***

The next day, I have an excuse to help Peter in the shower. It's fun, and as much as he tries to tell me that shower sex is not necessary, we do it anyway (although, thanks to the cast, it's a little awkward…I have a feeling I'm going to be saying that a lot soon.) I get to carry Peter's books around and open doors for him, much to his embarrassment, but my happiness. There's a little part of me that wishes I could do this all the time like any good boyfriend does. Although the rest of me has more pride than that.

After a couple days of this, Peter and I are walking back to our dorm room, Peter rather grouchy because his cast is itching, and myself getting a little grouchy because my boyfriend is grouchy. It's a bad circle.

"Peter, just stop complaining, alright?" I basically snarl as I open the door to our room and help him get through it, throwing both our bags on the ground. "I'm just trying to help, alright?"

"What if I don't need help?" His tone is just as nasty as mine.

"For God's sake, Peter, your arm is in a cast if you hadn't noticed! You think you can function alright on your own, then good, do it!"

"I will!"

I regret my words instantly as I see him struggle to get his bag and take out books before marching angrily to his desk. It's even worse when he can't get his pencil out, can't get out of his chair…and later, when he can't cut his food up at dinner, and has so much difficulty getting into his pajamas that it's all I can do not to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness.

I lay in bed that night, sighing every time I hear him shift in bed, trying to get comfortable. I can't sleep until I'm sure he's asleep; I even get out of bed to double check. When I'm positive that he's asleep, I crawl into my own bed and fall into restless sleep.

When I wake up, Peter is standing over my bed, tears running down his cheeks. I am suddenly awake, and I hop out of bed to wrap my arms around him. "Peter, just relax…what's wrong…Peter, please just breathe…"

"I can't get dressed!" he cries, burying his face in my shoulder. "I can't do anything, please help me…please!"

"Of course, Peter," I sigh. I was afraid it was something a lot more serious. All earlier feuds forgotten, I pull Peter over to his bed, pulling his pajama shirt back over his head. He looks at me, confused. "I think we need a mental health day," I wink. "So you're getting right back into bed, and I'm getting right in there with you."

"But Jason-"

"I'm taking care of you, Peter. Remember?"

I wipe away his tears, still holding him close. "Now just relax, lay down, and enjoy my eternal service."

He lets out a weak laugh, and I feel much better. I fluff his pillow and pull the blankets up, barely managing to squeeze in beside him. Pulling the blankets up to our chins, I help Peter get comfortable before kissing his forehead.

"Now just relax, and keep going, Peter. Baseball accidents could happen to anyone."

He laughs again, but more drowsily. "But it happened to me."

I kiss his forehead again, and, wishing that someday this'll be much easier for both of us (and not just in the cast in the way sense), fall into a deep sleep, my beautiful, clumsy, and perfect Peter in my arms.


End file.
